


Strings Attached

by pancakewars



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Friends With Benefits, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, M/M, Making Out, as much as I wish I did I don't actually have an excuse for this one, semi-public hand jobs maybe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 03:18:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5441507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pancakewars/pseuds/pancakewars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tendou doesn't know whether Eita considers them friends after he accidentally spikes a ball at Eita's face, but their arrangement sure as hell has benefits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strings Attached

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as "tensemi make out" and turned into "tensemi make out, things happen, and I hate myself". I really wanted a canon backstory, and for some reason decided to take the plunge. Three weeks and a lot of pain later... here I am.
> 
> As always, no thanks to [alice](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kierenwalkers/profile) for leading me astray. (Jk, ily, thank you for being the loveliest and most supportive ♥)
> 
> Someone please stop me from writing any more about these two.

The realisation hits Tendou in his third year, when he has his tongue shoved down Eita’s throat at the back of the club room after practice.

“Fuck,” he hisses as he pulls back, only to get distracted by the faint flush creeping up Eita’s neck. Eita shifts impatiently against him, uniform rumpled and hair a mess.

“What?” he asks, disgruntled.

Tendou doesn’t try to suppress the laugh that rises in his throat. Eita is one of their most serious players on the court, with a look concentration that rivals Wakatoshi’s in intensity. If they didn’t play on the same side of the net, Tendou would probably get a kick out of blocking spikes set by him, slamming them to the ground and watching Eita’s brow furrow in frustration, hearing that pretty mouth curse.

As things turn out, they do play on the same side of the net, and Tendou has to settle for other ways to get under his skin. Which had never been a problem until now.

“What’s wrong?” Eita repeats, patience wearing thin.

Tendou feels his face twist. “Nothing,” he lies.

“Then shut up,” Eita mutters, pulling him back in by the front of his shirt. “And kiss me.”

 

 

 

 

The way Tendou sees it, you win some and you lose some. People know who Semi Eita is when he joins the Shiratorizawa volleyball club in their first year— a skilled setter from a powerhouse middle school. No one has heard of Tendou, and it’s just as well, since the only thing he’d been famous for in middle school was pissing off his coach.

At least Tendou has a winning personality to make up for it. Eita, on the other hand, is a little lacking in the charm department. Volleyball is the only thing he seems to be enthusiastic about, and he once turns down an invitation from a cute girl to sit at her lunch table in favour of hitting serves in the gym. Eita, Tendou decides, takes things far too seriously for someone who’s good at what he does.

He’s also kind of hot and has nice collarbones.

Unfortunately, Tendou has other things to worry about— trying to earn a place on the starting lineup, for one. Competition is tough, and people aren’t particularly friendly. No one comes to a school like Shiratorizawa to warm the bench.

Honestly, it’s a bit of a hassle. Tendou is just there to play. It’s probably precisely because of this disregard for club politics that he finds himself friends with not only Eita, but the biggest threat of their year, Ushijima Wakatoshi.

Apparently, Wakatoshi was to the middle school volleyball scene what Hamasaki Ayumi is to Japanese pop music. His cross spikes are capable of decimating the opposing team, is what Tendou hears some of the others say. Wakatoshi doesn’t talk much, which is fine, since he also doesn’t ever tell Tendou to shut up. Then again, neither does Eita— even though he constantly looks like he wants to.

Wakatoshi is the same regardless of whether he’s on or off the court, but Eita is stripped of most of his intensity once he steps out of the gym. His class is next to Tendou’s, and Tendou sees him walk past some mornings. He doesn’t look nearly as focused in class as he does during practice. Not that Tendou pays attention.

In the end, Wakatoshi is the only first year to make the starting lineup. It goes unspoken that Eita will probably have a place next year, when the team’s current setter graduates, but Tendou’s own future in the team is uncertain.

He decides not to be too bothered by it. Even if he can’t play in official matches for the time being, he figures there are other ways to have fun.

 

 

 

 

Eita doesn’t get embarrassed when Tendou calls him _hot stuff_ in front of the members, but he does seem slightly miffed, which is as good a reaction as any. He also takes ages to gather his things after practice, which means Tendou only has to hang back a while for it to be just the two of them in the club room.

He sidles up to where Eita is putting away his uniform.

“Tendou,” Eita says, more an acknowledgement than anything. He doesn’t look up, and for a while Tendou is forced to think of a way to get his attention.

He feels a slow grin spread its way across his face. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

Eita’s eyes flicker over to him. “No,” he answers easily.

“ _Had_ a girlfriend?”

A pause. “I didn’t have time for that stuff,” he shuts his locker and turns to look at Tendou, eyebrow raised. “Did you?”

Tendou feels his grin widen. “I might have.” He hardly ever got involved in anything serious, but he did have a girlfriend in his second year of middle school. A pretty girl from the next class who dumped him after just three weeks together.

Eita nods. Tendou takes a step closer to him, delights in the feeling of having Eita cornered. He has less than half a head on Eita, but it’s enough.

Tendou leans in, taunting. “What about a boyfriend?”

And there it is, the momentary hesitation. Tendou’s intuition is almost always right. He’s standing close enough to see the ends of Eita’s hair plastered to his face with sweat, the flutter of his eyelashes every time he blinks.

“No,” Eita answers, voice even, if a little wary. “Why?”

Tendou leers, trying to stifle the excitement simmering just under his skin. “No reason. You look a little… tense.”

He takes a second step forward, just enough to get all up in Eita’s personal space. They’re practically a hair’s width apart now, and Tendou hears the slight hitch of breath before Eita opens his mouth, as if to say something. The air between them is thick with anticipation.

For a moment, Tendou feels triumphant. This is what he’d come here for— to mess with Eita, ruffle his feathers a bit. He expects Eita to break eye contact with him, take a step back, hopefully while looking at least a little flustered. Maybe throw a sharp remark his way.

Instead, Eita brings an arm up to place against the back of Tendou neck, drags him downwards, and kisses him.

It’s not even a quick kiss. It’s open-mouthed, a slide of tongues that throws Tendou off completely. Eita’s mouth is working against his, eager and kind of wet, like this is something he’s been wanting to do for— how long? How long have they even known each other? Tendou doesn’t know where his brain has gone, but he hopes it’s on a round trip.

Come to think of it (ah, there it is), this isn’t the first time Tendou’s been confronted by such a situation. He’s done this before. Many times. Which poses the question: what would dream Tendou do?

Not this, that’s for sure. Tendou’s mind has gone blank, and he splutters and pulls away the moment he regains control of his limbs. It’s not like he doesn’t want to make out with Eita– he _totally_ does– but really. Tendou has no idea where this is coming from. He’s the one meant to be doing the messing with, not the _being_ messed with.

Eita takes a hasty step backwards.

Tendou takes it in— the sight of Eita blinking at him apprehensively, face colouring. Not something you see every day. Judging from his uncertain look, Eita doesn’t know how Tendou is going to react. Tendou realises he could, knowing now that Eita has the hots for him, turn right around and walk away from this.

Swallowing a laugh, he closes the distance between them, pushes Eita roughly against the locker and shoves their mouths together a second time.

Eita sinks into the kiss immediately, hand coming up to card through Tendou’s hair and grab a fistful, using the leverage to deepen the kiss. Tendou runs his tongue over the roof of his mouth, prods experimentally at his tongue. The locker rattles every time Eita moves against it, but Tendou barely notices— he’s too preoccupied trying to draw more sounds out of him.

They break apart, dizzy and breathing hard. Eita still has his fingers tangled in Tendou’s hair, holding him in place. Tendou can feel the rise and fall of Eita’s chest under him. He stares down at Eita’s mouth, red and inviting, and suddenly becomes aware of how uncomfortably tight his pants feel.

“As long as we don’t get caught,” Eita breathes against him.

Tendou is perfectly okay with that.

 

 

 

 

At practice, Tendou gets so distracted looking at Eita’s dumb face and thinking about kissing him that he ends up spiking a ball right at it. 

It’s an honest mistake. Tendou has nothing to gain by ruining Eita’s primary asset— he _likes_ his face— and he tries explaining as much. It takes ten minutes to stem the blood flowing from Eita’s nose, and the swelling doesn’t go down for several days. Tendou tells him he looks like a really unattractive reindeer. The look on Eita’s face is almost worth the silent treatment he receives for it.

Tendou doesn’t know whether Eita quite considers them friends after that, but their new arrangement sure as hell has benefits.

The classrooms on the fifth floor are empty after last period, which gives them a bit of time before lunch to do whatever the hell they want in there. Tendou tugs the front of Eita’s shirt out of the waistband of his pants, trying not to get distracted when Eita sinks his teeth into his neck, flicking his tongue out to lick against the skin there. He slips a hand under Eita’s shirt, runs it over the expanse of his stomach to feel for abs. It’s unlikely he’s gained any in the past week, but there’s no harm in checking.

They hardly exchange words, only touches. After weeks of rushed making out and grinding up against each other with the lights off, Tendou thinks _fuck it_ and jerks himself off right there, shoves his hand down his pants and strokes himself till he comes with Eita watching him, eyes blown and breath stuttering.

Things get messier after that. The unspoken hands-above-the-waist rule they’d been maintaining up till then, for whatever reason, is discarded.

Eventually, they go back to using the club room after practice is over, once everyone has left.

They’re always tired and sweaty after volleyball, but there’s something about riding off a post-game adrenaline high that makes everything more heated and desperate, all round more unrestrained.

It’s the perfect arrangement: just some good, not-so-clean fun. Good for working off a little pent up energy. Nothing at stake for either of them.

And that’s all there is to it.

 

 

 

 

In their second year, Eita dyes his hair, becomes exponentially hotter, and gains himself a handful of admirers in the form of first year girls who shouldn’t know he exists. They giggle and blush when they try to talk to him, and frankly, it’s annoying— both the fact that they’re more interested in Eita than in him, and that they’re all over Eita _now_ when really, Tendou had been there from the start.

“What’s the matter?” Eita asks him, after the third girl that day wishes him luck for their upcoming match. They’re pretty girls, too; it’s a shame they have such bad taste. Eita is watching him, amusement evident on his face. “You jealous?”

Tendou rolls his eyes so hard they hurt. “Yeah, so jealous. Maybe I should dip-dye my hair purple.”

He supposes it would be a problem if he were the possessive type. Not that there’s much to be possessive about, since it’s not like he has any right to Eita, short of being the only one who knows what sounds he makes when he’s getting off. Or _one_ of the only ones. Probably. Tendou hopes he’s the only one.

So maybe he’s the possessive type. But that’s besides the point, since it’s Eita who texts him a single word, ‘ _bathroom_ ’, in the middle of second period the next day. Tendou considers ignoring it— the original plan was to have Eita wrapped around his little finger, not the other way round— but a missed opportunity would benefit no one. Plus, the angles the teacher is drawing on the board aren’t the kinds of angles Tendou is interested in learning about, and so he finds himself in the bathroom next to the club room not five minutes later.

Eita gets straight to it, pushing Tendou into the first stall and locking the door behind them. There’s barely enough standing space for two; Tendou’s back is pressed against the cubicle wall, and Eita leans forward to nip at his bottom lip.

“Ooh, someone’s eager,” Tendou says, but then Eita pulls him into a kiss, and neither of them say anything at all for a while.

Tendou doesn’t know what’s gotten into Eita today, but he’s not complaining. Maybe he was just bored in class. Or horny. He can feel Eita half-hard against him, and reaches out to palm at the bulge in his pants, eliciting a soft whine.

“Hey, Eita,” Tendou breathes, voice coming out lewder than he’d intended. “Call me Satori.”

He applies pressure to his hand, and Eita groans. “ _No_.”

“Come on, don’t be a spoilsport.”

“Hey,” Eita says suddenly, pulling back a little with what looks like great effort. “Remember that girl who talked to me yesterday?”

It’s a pretty obvious attempt at distracting him, and Tendou applies more pressure, stroking lazily through his pants. “The one with the ponytail?” He wonders if Eita noticed him giving her the stink eye.

“She was— _ah_ — she was cute, wasn’t she?”

Tendou makes a face. But then he opens his mouth to make a rude remark, and finds himself picturing Eita with the girl, doing gross and couple-y things like holding hands and feeding each other ice cream.

Eita seems to pick up on his hesitation.

“Oh?” he laughs, a smug, sexy sound that makes Tendou want to shut him up. Preferably with his tongue. “What do you think?”

Tendou knows Eita is trying to screw with him. In retaliation, he leans forward and sucks the biggest hickey he can manage into the crook of Eita’s neck.

Personally, Tendou gets a kick out of letting the team see the occasional marks Eita leaves on him. He doesn’t hide them when he changes, concocts wild stories about different girls to go with them— Reon always shakes his head in a mixture of disbelief and awe, and Taichi’s fingers go still, a sign he’s stopped texting to listen in. Eita refuses to say a word or make eye contact, which is an even bigger plus.

Clearly, Eita isn’t much of an exhibitionist. Which is exactly why Tendou does it. By the next morning, the hickey has turned an ugly, blotchy purple, and no amount of borrowed makeup can conceal it.

Eita doesn’t talk to him for a week.

 

 

 

 

Up until he gets chewed out by their coach for being “excessive and distracting”, Tendou calls for Eita’s tosses even when he’s not in a position to spike them. They’re both starting members in their second year, which means they play together in official matches. Wakatoshi is finally the undisputed ace of the team.

As rewarding as it is to crush your opponents and see the looks on their faces, volleyball is, at the end of the day, about good instincts and good teamwork. Tendou’s middle school coach used to preach something fancy about sports being like language, which— whatever. Fair enough. Tendou likes calling out and receiving an answer. It’s especially exhilarating when Eita answers him.

Unfortunately, it’s clear that Eita didn’t earn his reputation through luck— he’s meticulous and strategic, taking risks with surprising pay-offs, and doesn’t ever toss to someone who’s not in a decent position to score. He’s also impressively petty. Post-hickey incident, Tendou doesn’t get a single good toss until he agrees to make things up to him (he ends up buying Eita a week’s worth of tekka maki– _boring_ — Tendou would have definitely used the opportunity to ask for sexual favours).

No one can deny that Eita is a good player. Despite it usually being safest to toss to Wakatoshi, he’s good at switching things up, making snap decisions and taking the opposing team by surprise. The coach isn’t thrilled, but it works well enough.

Tendou likes to think that in moments of uncertainty, Eita will toss to him. Maybe it’s the result of being so intimately acquainted– Tendou supposes you have to trust someone to let them put their mouth on your dick on a regular basis. Whatever the case, they click well as players, striking up a good balance.

And then Shirabu Kenjirou comes along.

The second and third years whisper about how he made it into Shiratorizawa based purely on academic ability. Kenjirou is ambitious, quick-tempered, and seems to greatly admire Wakatoshi. He’s not particularly outstanding as a player, but his sets are clean, his serves well-balanced. The coach says he has potential.

Eita is good at utilising their players— almost _too_ good. Kenjirou works well with Wakatoshi, and it’s obvious the coach has his eye on him.

Midway through their second year, Eita stops spending time after practice with Tendou in the changing room and starts hitting extra serves in the gym. Tendou offers to practice with him, hit some of his tosses. Maybe try out a new combo attack while they’re at it. Eita agrees readily.

They spend weeks that way, practicing long after the rest of the team has gone home. Nothing but the two of them in the gym and the sound of shoes squeaking against the floor and balls being hit, over and over. It’s not getting off, but it’s fun— volleyball had, after all, been the reason they’d met. The routine is kind of relaxing. Calm, in its own way, like the calm before a storm.

 

 

 

 

After a bad day at practice, during which he gets yelled at by the coach for his poor aim, Eita stays back to do some drills. He hits serve after serve, vigorously and in rapid succession until he’s doubled over from the exertion, hands red and raw. Then he starts up again.

Tendou watches for almost half an hour before he walks over, knocks the ball out of Eita’s hands, grabs him by the shoulders and forces their mouths together.

All the fight seems to go out of Eita. He presses into Tendou, letting Tendou lick into his mouth and run a hand under his shirt. Eita grabs his other wrist but doesn’t do anything with it, just holds on to it like a lifeline.

“You need to chill out,” Tendou murmurs. “It’s not even funny anymore.” 

Eita’s eyes are fixed on his mouth when he pushes Tendou back reluctantly. “Someone might come in.” His voice comes out breathy and— fuck, Tendou really likes turned on Eita.

“Live a little,” he scoffs, but he pulls Eita to the far end of the gym, up the steps leading to the stage used for school ceremonies, and behind the curtain. He pushes him into a sitting position against the wall and kneels over him, out of sight from the entrance. “Better?”

Eita closes his eyes and nods. Tendou gets to work, edging the waistband of his shorts downwards and stroking the outline of Eita’s cock through his briefs. Eita pulls him in for a kiss, a messy tangle of tongues as he tugs Eita’s briefs down.

And then the door to the gym slides open with a loud bang.

Eita jerks in surprise, eyes flying open. Tendou instinctively reaches out and clamps a hand over Eita’s mouth.

“Uh… hello?” comes a familiar voice from the entrance. One of the new kids, Tsutomu. He’s probably back to get something he left here by accident, and all of the lights in the gym are still on. Eita goes still, eyes darting nervously in the direction of the court. Tsutomu can’t see them though, and won’t be able to unless he walks right up to the stage. They’re safe as long as he doesn’t _hear_ them.

Tendou leans forward until his lips are against Eita’s ear. “Don’t make a sound,” he whispers, and starts moving his hand again. 

Eita squeezes his eyes shut, immediately bringing a hand up to the grip Tendou has over his mouth. He doesn’t make any move to resist, though, so Tendou keeps going. He can’t see Tsutomu from where they are, but he can hear him moving, soft footsteps against the gym floor. Eita fidgets, stifling a moan against Tendou’s hand.

“Is someone there?” Tsutomu calls faintly.

Eita’s breath is coming out in sharp pants, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. Tendou brings him to orgasm that way, hand wrapped around his length and pumping. Slowly at first, then picking up speed.

Eita comes into his hand with a shudder, nails digging into Tendou’s hand, hips jerking erratically.

Tendou suddenly becomes aware of how uncomfortably hard he is without even having been touched. But this thought is cut short when Eita tries to prop himself up straight, drags a sneaker against the floor, and a resounding squeak echoes through the gym.

Tendou and Eita freeze. There’s no way Tsutomu would have missed that.

Tendou runs a few quick scenarios and excuses through his head. But instead of coming over to investigate, Tsutomu makes a noise of distress and flees, not even shutting the door to the gym behind him.

Eita exhales a shaky breath, shoulders sagging in relief.

“Poor kid,” Tendou laughs, letting himself relax too. He tries to wipe his hand on Eita’s shirt and has it batted away as Eita pulls his shorts back up, trying to make himself decent again. “Probably thinks this place is haunted now,” Tendou blabbers on. “Hey, zombie cheerleaders would be pretty apt for a school gym, don’t you think?”

Eita stares blankly at him. Tendou frowns. “You didn’t watch that movie? But there were so many pretty girls—” He stops, frown melting into a sly grin. “Sorry, I forgot. Pretty girls aren’t your thing.”

“Shut up,” Eita mutters, but the effect is dampened by how heavily he’s breathing. He seems to realise belatedly that he is, in fact, capable of making Tendou shut up, and leans forward to kiss him again. His hand comes up to toy at the waistband of Tendou’s shorts, and Tendou feels himself shudder in anticipation.

“Hey, what’s going on back here— ah, hell.”

Tendou whips around and Reon is standing there, staring down at them. He looks kind of put off, but mostly just at a huge loss for what to do. Eita goes completely rigid. Tendou puts a hand to his chest in mock surprise, and is genuinely surprised to find how fast his heart is beating. “Geez, don’t sneak up on people like that.”

Reon sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

“Tsutomu had to come back for his kneepads,” he explains regretfully. “He swore he heard some sort of ghost in here, so I was just doing my duty as a good senpai…” He trails off, giving them a look. “Especially since certain other senpai were off and _preoccupied_.”

Eita blanches. Tendou shifts in the hopes that his hard-on might be a bit less obvious. “Well, this is awkward.”

“I’ll leave,” Reon says, turning abruptly.

“Wait,” Eita blurts. “Is this— are you—”

Reon stops in his tracks, bringing a hand up to scratch at the back of his head. “Yeah, you know, last year I went back to the club room for my bottle and you two were… well, anyway, you’ve come this far without it affecting your game, so I don’t have anything against it. I won’t tell, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Tendou lets out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Ah, Reon, my man. I would kiss you, but who knows where this mouth has been—”

“Shut _up_ ,” Eita groans.

“Make me,” Tendou fires back.

Reon leaves pretty quickly after that.

 

 

 

 

The day Kenjirou is picked for the starting lineup, Eita is first out of the changing room after practice. They’re in their third year, Kenjirou in his second, and Eita ups and leaves before the rest of the team can even begin to think about what to say to him.

Intuition leads Tendou straight to the roof of the main school building. Sure enough, Eita is alone there, sitting on one of the benches laid out in the area. There’s tension visible in the stiffness of his shoulders, but otherwise, he looks like any student killing some time.

“Hey,” Tendou says, sliding in to sit next to him. Eita doesn’t say anything, but moves aside just a fraction to make space. His expression is hard, jaw set and fists curled. Tendou always finds it amusing to see opponents cry when they lose matches to Shiratorizawa, but he doesn’t want to see _Eita_ upset.

He opens his mouth, crude joke on the tip of his tongue, when Eita turns without warning and pushes him down on the bench, practically climbs on top of him.

“Um,” Tendou’s eyebrows shoot up as Eita straddles him. “Consolation sex?”

“Shut up,” Eita says and dips his head down to kiss him.

It’s bruising, _angry_. Tendou didn’t know it was possible to pour emotions into kisses like that. He thought that was a myth. Eita has his hands fisted in Tendou’s collar, pulling him close, tongue working against his, and– geez, Tendou has never seen him so worked up before. “Angry sex,” Tendou laughs weakly, and Eita pushes him against bench and kisses him so hard that Tendou feels teeth against teeth.

It’s hot as fuck, but there’s also something off about it. Tendou ignores the voice in his head telling him he’s going to regret this later and pushes Eita back. Eita stares— not confused, but not comprehending either, and Tendou winces but says nothing.

Eita removes his hand from Tendou’s collar and lets it fall limply at his side. He looks frustrated, which isn’t unexpected, but he also looks tired, disappointed. Defeated. Tendou has never seen him look that way. Frankly, it’s a little disturbing.

“Guess you should’ve tossed more to Miracle Boy, less to me,” Tendou says.

Eita looks away. “I don’t toss to you just because you want me to.”

Tendou perks up. “So you toss to me because you like me more?”

No answer.

“Kenjirou isn’t that special,” Tendou finds himself saying, voice quiet. “His tosses are boring. The mechanics of it, you know? Even though he’s supposed to help us along to Nationals. Plus, girls don’t really like him.” If Tendou had to pick sides, it’d be kind of obvious which he’d choose. _Sucker_ , says the tiny, annoying part of his brain.

After a beat, Eita looks at him. “Are you trying to make me feel better?”

Tendou feels his face pull into a grimace. “Coach benched you because your technique fucking sucks. Not even your serves are straight.”

Which is bullshit, _obviously_ , you’d think Eita would know him by now, but his eyes narrow, lips pressing into a thin line.

“Look,” Tendou says. He tries to empathise, tries to imagine how it would feel if he were to be swapped out of the starting lineup for a second year. The thought is laughable, so he quickly discards it. “Whatever, right? You’re good, so practice and go win your place back. Don’t _sulk_. I’ll blow you later.”

Eita rolls his eyes. “Thanks, Tendou.”

“You’re still my favourite setter?” Tendou tries. He doesn’t feel bad for Eita, not exactly, but he’d seen first-hand how hard Eita worked to try and maintain the shrinking gap between him and Kenjirou. “Also, isn’t it common courtesy to offer to return the favour–”

Eita shakes his head, though he doesn’t look exasperated. He doesn’t grace Tendou with a reply before he reaches over and grabs his bag off the floor. Then he stands and heads for the stairwell, leaving without another word.

The roof is quiet in his wake, save for a couple of birds and the sound of distant traffic. Tendou wonders if he imagined the slight quirk of Eita’s lip right before he’d shut the door.

 

 

 

 

The school’s stock of bandages runs out and the coach asks someone to take Tendou out to buy a new roll, so that he won’t injure his fingers and bleed all over the goddamn ball all the time. Unsurprisingly, the rest of the third years nominate Eita for the job.

(“Why me?” Eita sighs, looking over at Tendou, who gives him an exaggerated wink.

“You looked like you wanted to,” Reon jokes. Eita glowers at him for the rest of practice.)

They set aside Saturday afternoon to pay the store a visit. It’s the first time Tendou is seeing Eita outside of school or practice– they’ve never had any reason to meet otherwise. Come to think of it, Tendou should have made Eita his study buddy over the last two years. Then again, it’s doubtful how much actual studying would get done.

Eita is waiting for him at the station exit, dressed in a hoodie and jeans. The combination really shouldn’t look as good as it does on him, and for a second Tendou’s so stumped that he forgets where he is and what he’s doing. It’s only when Eita walks up to him, gives him a perplexed look and mutters a “What are you looking at?” that Tendou snaps out of his stupor and jams his hands into his pockets. 

“Nothing,” he sighs dramatically. “Just thinking about how uncool you look in casual clothes.”

Eita looks vexed. Tendou distracts him by pulling him hastily in the direction of the shop, and demanding he explain some serving pointers while they walk.

The actual buying of the bandages is uneventful. They grab lunch afterwards (overpriced sushi; Tendou isn’t the slightest bit surprised at Eita’s taste anymore), don’t grab dessert (Eita turns down the offer for ice cream, Tendou’s treat), and at the end of it, Tendou manages to trick Eita into taking a detour with him to a bookstore off the main road.

Tendou makes a beeline for the manga section. Eita trails reluctantly behind him, eventually settling on hovering behind him and reading titles over his shoulder. After much cajoling and Tendou waving covers in front of him to try and elicit a response, Eita admits that yes, he used to keep up with a series about basketball almost obsessively, but no, he hasn’t bought Shounen Jump in _years_. He grew out of it, he insists. Tendou wrinkles his nose and buys a copy for himself anyway.

After that, all that’s left is to go back to the station. The neighbourhood they walk through is kind of idyllic, especially since the sakura trees are beginning to bloom, and it’s like a scene out of a romantic movie, except, well. If Tendou were with a girl, he might be tempted to ask her to told his hand to complete the picture. Then again—

“Hey Eita, wanna hold my hand?”

He gets an unimpressed look for his efforts.

The walk seems longer when they’re not talking about volleyball, but Tendou is perfectly content to spend it admiring Eita’s ass in those jeans out of the corner of his eye.

They finally reach the station, and are about to part ways when Eita looks like he wants to say something. But then he gets a strange look on his face, forehead creasing and mouth turned downwards, as if reconsidering. Tendou blinks, repeats _no touching, not in public_ in his head, and waits.

“See you on Monday,” is what Eita eventually decides on, and just like that, turns and disappears in the opposite direction. Tendou is left standing there, a little thrown off.

He brushes it off and goes home.

It’s only when he’s back in his room, plastic bag of bandages tossed carelessly on the floor and Shounen Jump opened on his desk, that a thought occurs to him: he’d practically been out on a _date_ with Eita today.

And _liked_ it.

 

 

 

 

Gradually, everything starts to come together— the jealousy, the date, not wanting to see Eita upset, not wanting to serve as his distraction. But the true realisation only hits in their third year, when Tendou has his tongue shoved down Eita’s throat at the back of the club room after practice.

“What’s wrong?” Eita repeats, patience wearing thin.

Tendou feels his face twist. “Nothing,” he lies.

“Then shut up,” Eita mutters, pulling him back in by the front of his shirt. “And kiss me.”

Which turns out to be a surprisingly difficult thing to do when distracted. Tendou suddenly doesn’t remember all the right spots to prod at with his tongue, doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be doing with his hands. He fumbles awkwardly with the base of Eita’s shirt, miserably accepting that the revelation has rendered him useless.

After a while, Eita pulls back to stare at him. “What is it?”

“I have a problem,” Tendou tells him, because he’d never actually learnt how to self-censor, not even at critical junctures like this one. “Not _that_ kind of problem,” he sneers, in response to the look Eita gives him. “Just… well. You see. I have these feelings.”

Eita looks confused. “You have… what?”

“Feelings,” Tendou repeats unhelpfully.

It takes a while for it to sink in. Truthfully, Tendou has no idea how Eita is going to react. He could, knowing now that Tendou is into him, turn right around and walk away from this. Tendou expects him to appear surprised, at the very least.

But Eita, the little bitch, puts a hand on his hip and _smirks_. “You _like_ me? 

Tendou scrunches his nose. “Ugh, no.” He regrets everything. Except that, you know, he doesn’t. “I fucking hate your pretty boy ass.” A pause. “Wait, no, I like your ass–”

Eita takes a wordless step back, looking at him expectantly.

“What?” Tendou asks, suddenly unnerved.

“If you like me so much,” Eita says. “Then ask me out.”

Tendou stares at him, dumbstruck.

“Well?” Eita demands. Tendou honestly has no idea whether he’s fucking with him or not. Eita’s expression gives nothing away. The one reassuring thing is that he doesn’t look bothered by this whole turn of events, which— Tendou doesn’t know when he even started caring. But then, that’s the problem. Tendou _cares_.

He breathes out, shoulders slumping. “Eita, we were supposed to just fuck around but my life is a fucking movie and now… I’m overly attached. Will you take me, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, in the club room or in a bathroom stall—”

Eita laughs, head thrown back and shoulders shaking, and, well, fuck. Tendou has only just realised how rarely Eita smiles. He looks cute like this, and Tendou’s stomach does something weird. Feelings are gross.

Eita shakes his head. “That was the worst confession I’ve ever heard.” Tendou doesn’t know how many Eita has heard, but it’s probably something pathetic and under five, so he doesn’t take it personally.

“Can we skip to the part where you get me off?” Tendou whines.

Eita raises a derisive eyebrow, but it’s ruined when he breaks into a grin. “You don’t wanna be boyfriends?” he asks, voice patronising. Tendou feels his face pinch in disgust. Eita seems undeterred. “Don’t you want me to hold your hand?”

“Fuck off,” Tendou grumbles. It takes two steps to close in for a kiss, and Eita reacts immediately, eyes falling shut and arms coming up to rest against Tendou’s shoulders. Tendou maneuvers them so that Eita is propped against the locker. He makes sure to press a leg between Eita’s when he leans deeper into the kiss, feels a shiver run down his spine at the noise Eita makes in response.

Feelings are weird, but this is familiar. This is safe.

They break apart to catch their breaths, Eita bringing his hand down to hover at Tendou’s waist. Tendou buries his nose in Eita’s neck and inhales. Eita doesn’t smell like much besides sweat.

“What are we now?” Tendou mumbles against his collar.

Eita runs his hand under Tendou’s shirt, up his side. Tendou’s skin burns at the touch. “Don’t know. Does it matter?”

Tendou is perfectly okay with that.

Eita leans forward to kiss him again— softly this time, a brief press of the lips. With his left hand, he takes Tendou’s right and interlaces their fingers. It’s new and intimate and fascinating, and Tendou is okay with that, too.

**Author's Note:**

> "Tendou and Semi? Are you serious? They're not even relevant."
> 
> —Me, a month ago


End file.
